


Collared

by pastelfalcon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, Collars, Domme Natasha Romanov, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelfalcon/pseuds/pastelfalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three unrelated drabbles of Sam wearing a collar for Nat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collared

“Anybody ever tell you you’re just plain mean?” Sam breathlessly asks Natasha as she does the little thing with her hips again, taking just the head of his dick inside her and and not an inch more. Her smirk is soft but feline, matching the predatory glint in her eyes as her hand slides up his bare chest and she gets a finger through the ring on the front of his collar, yanking his head up and holding it aloft. “You’re killing me here, Nat,” he grunts, resisting the entirely justified urge to snap his wrist restraints and roll them over so he can actually get his dick wet.

“Poor baby,” she croons, tilting her face down to purr against his mouth. Her eyes are still open and he watches them helplessly. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

Sam’s cock twitches and Natasha laughs as she spits in his open mouth and chases it in down with her tongue. Obediently, he doesn’t swallow.

 

* * *

 

Natasha stalks slowly towards him as she lightly slaps the leather tip of the riding crop against the palm of her open hand, her eyes half-lidded and her smile small and kittenish. Sam knows she’s fucking with him, knows she’ll strike  _him_  five times as hard with that thing, knows she’ll leave his ass and thighs so tender he’ll have to sleep with his legs spread for days.

He is a man well and truly fucked, and she hasn’t even reached him yet.

“Fifty strikes here,” she says, drawing the leather fold up his naked inner thigh, “Or ten on your cock.” All resemblance to kittens leaves her face as she bares her teeth, eyebrows raising high and blatantly taunting. “Your call, Sam.”

Sam swallows against the tight clutch of his collar. “What do I get if I let you choose?”

Natasha grips his bearded chin and holds it, shaking his face like she’s a particularly handsy auntie. “You get both,” she croons, and steps back to get right into it. 

 

* * *

 

Natasha makes taking the collar off when they’re done playing a part of their aftercare rituals. She rubs him down first, letting him settle back into himself with its tight fit still keeping him threaded to whatever they were doing before, her fingers occasionally sliding over the ring draped from the front to remind him who’s caring for him. When he’s back to breathing easy, she has him place his hands on her hips, and she unbuckles the leather from his throat and takes her time in actually sliding it off.

“This part of me belongs to you, Sam,” she says every time, eyes intent on his, and Sam never mourns the loss of his collar because he knows the woman beneath his hands never goes away. 

 


End file.
